Alana’s story
Ten years ago, my husband of seven years died at age 47 from cancer.
We had one of those amazing relationships where we brought out the best in each other, we laughed, (his laugh could fill a room – seriously) we travelled and most of all, enjoyed each other’s company. He was my best friend. I think we had in ten years what some couples find in 20 or 30 years together. I knew that then, even before I knew he was dying.
We had an amazing son who was the light of our lives. My husband gave 150% as a father and doted over his son. As I worked in a corporate setting and he had his own business and therefore more flexibility, he handled the school runs, doctor visits, play dates and with so much enthusiasm. It’s almost as if he knew somehow that he didn’t have much time and made the most of what he had.
He wasn’t sick for long, probably 4 or 5 months.
The last 2 months were the worst so, as they say, “He didn’t suffer.” We pulled out all the stops to get him better, but it wasn’t to be. I became his caregiver and was at his side at night for breakthrough pain, dispensing some seriously strong prescribed painkillers, even shaving him in the mornings. His sister joined me in the last days as we cared for him by shift – I did the night; she did the mornings. As I watched his family and close friends come to visit him in hospital one by one in the last days, I knew it was hard on us all. He was the loudest person we knew, so full of life and laughter and his time with us was over. We knew it.
He died on a Friday night.
It was supposed to be the first night I would spend in the hospital at his bedside, I’d gone home to pack an overnight bag, when I returned, almost as if he waited for me, he died within minutes, peacefully and surrounded with loving friends and family.
It was a New Beginning for me - albeit not a happy one, not one I wanted, or planned for, but one that I learned so much from.
I went through grief, emotional rollercoasters, had a few dating disasters, made mistakes, felt overwhelmed with sadness sometimes, and guilt other times. I sought help though, and I wasn’t afraid to ask for support. I consciously set up my life for success ensuring pillars of support for myself and my son. It takes a village sometimes, it’s said.
Ten years later I can look back and say, yes, I've grown, I’m stronger, independent, and I’m in a good place. I still have to manage my emotions as I raise a teenage son but overall, I feel like a lioness, fierce with her cub, bringing home the bacon, being strong in the world.
Too often we treat single moms and especially widows, with kid gloves. Widows never forget our journey, so asking about it will never “remind” us, in fact, I prefer to share my story with others so hopefully I can help someone. Let them know that it can get better, and you can get through it.
That’s why I’m sharing this story - there’s always a new beginning. A new chance to be strong, happy, compassionate, joyful. There’s a chance for Single Moms to Succeed.
Thanks for reading my story.